The Dead Wake Up

I felt like a zombie Monday through Friday. Junior year was eating my brain, one AP class at a time. My alarm screamed at 6 AM, and I'd drag myself through the motions—shower, school, practice, homework, repeat. My friends probably thought I'd been possessed by something that only cared about GPA and college apps.

"You good, bro?" Marcus asked at lunch. "You look dead."

"Just tired," I muttered, poking at my cafeteria pizza.

Truth was, I'd stopped running from who I actually was. I came out to myself last summer, but telling my crew? That felt like jumping off a high dive without checking if there was water in the pool first.

Friday night, Marcus's older sister Jen was hosting a party. Her boyfriend had a house with a pool, and somehow word got out that people should bring swimsuits. I stood on the deck in my board shorts, heart hammering, watching everyone cannonball and splash.

"What, you scared?" Tyler called out, grinning. "Don't tell me you can't swim."

I could. Sort of. But not well, and definitely not gracefully.

The zombie feeling faded as adrenaline kicked in. I sprinted toward the water, running like I was escaping everything I couldn't say out loud. The shock of cold hit me like a reset button.

Underwater, the world went muffled and peaceful. No expectations. No judgment. Just me and the water and the sudden realization that nobody was watching me as closely as I thought they were.

I surfaced, gasping, to find Marcus floating beside me.

"Yo," he said. "You good?"

"Yeah," I said, treading water. "Actually, yeah."

"Cool," he said, splashing me. "Race you to the other side."

I wasn't a zombie anymore. I was just some kid learning to swim through all the messy, beautiful parts of growing up—and maybe, eventually, learning to come up for air and say who I really was. But tonight? Tonight was enough.